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“Hey, little piggy. ” Lilac made exaggerated sniffing sounds. “Disgusting. I can’t sit near this. ” She and her crew shifted to one of the rearmost bleachers.
I smiled. High s
chool barbs and minidramas meant nothing to me. I’d learned how to throw like a ninja.
Watcher Priti came to stand before the class. She was freshfaced and glowing, looking statuesque in a white jumper. It was hard to imagine she was capable of great savagery, though I knew she surely was. A woman wasn’t elevated to her rank without a flair for cold, calculated combat. I had a picture of her in my mind, beaming her pearly smile while beheading wayward Draug with her chakra.
“Wonderful news, little birds. We’ve determined the subject area for this semester’s Directorate Award. ”
Heart kicking into gear, I edged to the front of my seat. This was it. She was going to tell us what our big, end-of-semester challenge would be. Math? I wondered. Some computer-programming thing?
“It will be a single-elimination tournament format. You will face off against an Acari challenger. If you lose, you’re out. If you win, you face the next Acari. You do this over and over until either you lose or you win the tournament. ”
I hung on her every word, my mind racing. A tournament? But what would we compete in? Were they going to give us some sort of all-around trivia challenge?
Watcher Priti gave us her signature smile. It meant good news for me; I knew it. “This semester’s chosen discipline is . . . ”
I held my breath.
“. . . combat. ”
CHAPTER THIRTY
I sat on my bed, leaning against the wall, forcing myself to concentrate. Dinner had been almost impossible. I’d made myself drink—with an upcoming combat challenge, I’d be a fool not to—but that was about all I’d managed.
Master Alcántara had said participation in the competition was voluntary. I could back out. But then I’d lose my shot at traveling off this rock. At escape.
Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if one’s decision to enter or not enter the challenge weren’t part of the whole test. Watchers were the best of the best, and Acari were expected to be driven, to be contenders.
I’d just never thought of myself in that way before. Motivated and determined, yes. But a contender?
I slammed my Norse book shut. It was no good reading anything tonight.
Combat. Just the thought of it made me ill. Of all the things to be forced to compete in, they chose combat? And what did that mean, anyway? We’d dress up in armor and spar? What would the rules be? What constituted winning? Would girls get hurt? Would girls die?
But of course they’d die. Girls were dying in training; getting offed in the heat of competition would be a given.
“You’re looking shifty, Charity. ” Lilac slammed the door to our room and slung her bag on her bed. “Panties in a twist over the upcoming fight? What a shame you suck at anything to do with gym class. ”
She flopped on her bed, and for a moment we just stared at each other. It was such a mockery of regular dorm life, like two roomies in for the night, ready to gab. Then she pulled out her lighter, and I heard a clicking sound. Flick, flick, flick—over and over.
And she called me a freak. “Why don’t you do us a favor and set yourself on fire?”
She fingered the neck of her tunic. I’d almost forgotten her scar, but her tugging revealed more of that raw, rippling skin than I’d ever seen. She already had caught on fire once in her life.
It chilled me to consider what might’ve happened. More chilling, though, was the fact that, despite having once suffered third-degree burns, she was still drawn to all things flammable.
She snapped the lid to the Zippo shut. Pinching it between two fingers, she wriggled it before me. “Rumor has it they’ll let us fight with the weapon they gave us. Sort of like our specialty. ”
It made my flesh crawl to consider why Lilac might want to enter a sparring ring armed only with her lighter. I let my eyes travel back to the ridge of disfigured skin on her neck. “So, how’d you get your specialty, Lilac?”
“My mother brought this girl home once,” she said in a musing voice. She traced the edge of her scar, and the movement was dreamy, almost sensual. “Just some foster trash, but Mummy decided she was her little ragamuffin. Decided she was my new sister. But she wasn’t. ”
“Umm, okay. You didn’t like your foster sister—there’s no surprise. ” Was that why Lilac had borne me such instant and irrational hatred? “So is this a wealth thing? Is that why you hate me so much?”
“Oh, it’s so much more than that. You’re a dead ringer,” she said, and her choice of words gave me a shiver. She scowled at my hair. “Little Sunny, with her sweet blond hair. ”
“The kid’s name was Sunny?” I knew a flash of sympathy for this anonymous child. I had enough baggage around the whole blond thing, I couldn’t imagine having to bear the name Sunny in addition.
